I Love Charlie
by rusalkagirl
Summary: Maggie tries to teach Charlie about birth control.


Danny was down for a nap – not too far away, of course. They could still hear the steady rhythm of his breaths, metamorphosing into a heartbeat, from across the room. But now was as good of a time as ever.

"Charlie?" Maggie called, her natural tone not much harder than a whisper. The teen, fourteen now, lifted her head from the book she was reading. Her lip had lifted in something of a snarl. She did not get much free time, alone time, whatever she would call it, to relax. She vaguely remembered a Pre-Blackout sitcom she watched about a housewife – Lucy something, maybe. Charlie reminded herself of that, fourteen and sprouting around her brother's every need from day to day, washcloth always thrown over her shoulder.

"I don't mean to bother you," her step-mother, or close to it, corrected, "because I know you've been working hard all day. I just need to talk to you about something."

There was a twinkle in Maggie's eye that Charlie caught. She had seen this once before; an involuntary sigh escaped her mouth, catching when she sucked on her teeth in frustration. "You already told me about…what did you call it? The Birds and Bees? I would prefer not to hear it again."

Pink had settled on both of their cheeks, thanks to the awkwardness of being half-family and not flushed by the same blood. Charlie was appreciative, however, that did not have to hear any of this from her father. Or worse, Aaron.

"There's something else, though, Charlie," Maggie explained. She spoke in a soft way that annoyed the teenage at times, although she did not understand why. It may have been the foreign, almost mystical appearance she took – unlike anyone else from her rural village. From the moment they'd met, Maggie seemed like a Harry Potter character, hair almost white and eyes as pools of magic goop.

"What?" Charlie huffed, then looked in Danny's direction, cringing. She shouldn't have been so loud.

"You remember how a woman becomes pregnant, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "Duh."

"And that some people have sex not for reproduction, but for pleasure?"

"Yes, Maggie."

"There are things you can do, Charlie," Maggie pieced it together carefully, "to prevent pregnancy, if you are having sex for the latter reason. There are special coverings you can put on the length of the penis, special teas you can drink. Herbs that lower the chances. And there are special times of the month where you are less likely to conceive, too, if you would ever want to know. For you, it'd probably be around the second week of each month – if I remember your cycle correctly."

"Maggie?"

"Yes?"

"Please shut up." Charlie was feeling like she needed to use her brother's inhaler, the air coming up in short, painful exhales. She did not need to know any of this. She could be a lesbian for all she knew; her focus was never on boys, never on the little flickers of desire near her belly. She did not have time for that. Her brother needed her, he would be the only boy to receive her attention until he found someone else to share the responsibility of his well-being. And Charlie did not mind. She loved Danny, and he deserved that love more than anyone.

"Oh," Maggie glanced downward, somewhat hurt. "It's just, your father has told me many stories of how his group of friends acted at your age, and I want you to be responsible. I understand these are different times, which makes it all the more important that you take care of yourself."

Maggie did not say that she knows all about Charlie's womanizing uncle, and his twin of a best friend, but she thought it. Instead, she added, "Because you never know what'll happen, there may be some bad boy that will sweep you off your feet one day. And you won't be the little girl I know and love anymore."

And Charlie did not say that she has never been a little girl. Not since her mother left. Nor did she say that she already knew much of this, just from a glance in Maggie and her father's room.

She just kind of shuddered at the memory.


End file.
